Wade leaned close, his voice dropping into a low and ugly register. “You have absolutely no idea how alone you are about to be once I am gone.”
Then he walked out with her, and the front door slammed with a finality that shook the windows.
I waited until the house fell into a heavy silence. Then I reached into the drawer beside my bed, took out the small black phone my attorney had given me, and called the one person Wade feared more than any judge.
“Katherine,” I said as soon as she answered. “He finally did it.”
My attorney’s voice was calm and reassuring. “Good, then we can finally begin the process.”
Wade filed for divorce three days later.
His petition was theatrical, insulting, and incredibly stupid.
He claimed I was mentally fragile and had contributed nothing to the marriage except for basic domestic support. He even claimed he needed access to all marital assets to preserve the stability of our business.
The phrase made Katherine laugh so hard she actually coughed into her coffee.
Katherine Blake had been my attorney for twenty-two years, and she was a woman who wore sharp charcoal suits, hated liars, and knew exactly where every dollar in my life had gone.
